The Era -- Day By Day

[LizzieMaine]

I just wonder when they're going to turn on the heat in Kay and Mae's apartment. It's almost December!

Kirkman was a Brooklyn-based soap manufacturer that was bought out by Colgate-Palmolive-Peet. They advertised it very heavily on the East Coast, where it had a following, but nobody ever heard of it at all out west.

 

[Fading Fast]

"An' Danny's an idiot."

I don't think my father and Sally would be able to be in the same room together for more than five minutes without killing each other, but they'd agree on Danny and would say the exact same thing. I can hear my Dad, who's been dead for thirty-five years, saying that exact line.

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"F'one t'ing, her mout' is biggehr'n my whole head." "Willya stawp it, please,"



*******************************************************

"Hey Pap," pleads Willie. "C'n we go, huh? Can we?" Krause looks over the ad with considerable interest. "I wanna meet t'at guy draws Terry an'na Pirates," Willie continues. "An' I wanna fin'out whatsa matteh wit' 'im!" "Yeh!" agrees Krause...

That should be fun.

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It would be interesting to know what eventually happened to these three idiots.

***************************************************************

You know, somebody needs to teach these guys to lock their cars.

Seriously, the same thing twice in one storyline. I bet there are strict protocols around it today.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I'm sure," declares the frowning woman standing in the vegetable aisle at the 18th Avenue Roulston's, "that that Patrolman Flannery is every bit as dreadful, Mrs. Krause, as you say he is. But don't you think that there's just a chance that the Schreibstein boy is guilty?" "Soitenly nawt," huffs Alice. "I know t' kid poissonal." "Do you?" insinuates the woman. "Doesn't it strike you as a bit -- peculiar that he always seems to be -- ah -- around? Always carrying messages to people without telephones, always delivering things, running errands -- ah -- getting his foot in the door of people's homes?" "He's a smawrt kid," frowns Alice. "He's whatcha cawl a go-getteh." "Well, of course," huffs the woman, with a toss of her head. "That goes without saying. All those people are like that. But you know what goes on in Brownsville. If you ask me..." "Who AST you?" glares Alice. "An' whatta ya mean by 't'ose people?'" "Oh you know," smirks the woman, delicately stroking her nose. "But don't get me wrong," she continues behind a granite smile. "Some of them can be perfectly nice people. Some of my best friends are..." But her assertion is cut short by her sudden sharp collision with a large pyramid of canned tomato juice...)

("I look like," fumes Bink Scanlan, glaring at the mirror in Ma's bedroom, "an ad f' Lane Bryant's." "Y'look like," frowns Sally, "a r'spectable mot'eh t'be." "You really woeh t'is?" flinches Bink. "Whatta squaeh." "Ye look parrrfectly narrrmal," adds Ma. "Farrr woonce in yarr loife." "Y'ain' gotta weahr'it awla time," insists Sally, her voice taking on an impatient tone. "Jus' when we pull awff t'plan." "Well whenneh we gonna do t'at?" demands Bink. "Solly's oveh tawkin' t' t' Ginsboigs t'night, goin' oveh t'ings wit' Missis G," explains Sally. "An' he's gotta get t'ings set up inta Schriebstein's." "And Francis is meetin' his man ovarr in th' City again t'marra," adds Ma. "Who izzis guy, Ma?" demands Sally. "I still dunno nut'n about t'at." "Nivver ye moind," dismisses Ma. "Ye'll foind oot in good toime. Now..." "HEY!!!" interrupts Joe's voice from downstairs in the store. "HEY!!!!" he repeats, racing up the back stairs. "SAL!" he shouts, bursting into the apartment. "Go down 'n grab t' phone!" "Wha....?" gapes Sally. "It's Alice!" pants Joe. "She's been arrested!")

(Yes, they even sell tires.)


("Well we can't all have Jane Arden to do all the hard work for us.")

("This must cease at once," fumes Mr. Rickey. "Advise your cronies in the press that they are not to call my son by that ridiculous nickname. 'The Twig' indeed. My boy is as muscular and well-developed as any man." "No sir," sighs Mr. Parrott, "they don't call him that because he's thin, they call him that because --- see, your name is 'Branch,' and he's your son, and you could say that the son of a branch is a..." "I BEG YOUR PARDON?" flares Mr. Rickey. "You DARE to call my boy a 'son of a...'" "No sir," panics Mr. Parrott, his face white with terror. "I didn't say son of a -- that is -- I mean --" "Wait --" interrupts Mr. Rickey, holding up his hand. "I believe I -- yes, I do, I do now see the intended jest. The son of a branch -- is a twig." "YES sir," exhales Mr. Parrott, grasping the edge of the desk. "It isn't funny," scowls Mr. Rickey. "No sir," sighs Mr. Parrott....)

(The trick is to learn to roll, and land on your hair.)

(I thought Don Ameche invented the telephone.)

(I don't know who that guy is going thru the mailboxes, but he's clearly angling for a bigger part.)

(As a matter of common practice one should always avoid mysterious figures. At worst, they're crazed killers. At best, they're process servers.)

(THE MATCHLESS DETECTIVE SKILLS OF AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

Well yeah, if you're gonna buy at Bendel's. Why do you think Cole Porter never wrote a song about Namm's?

You can get anything at Sears. Except maybe a subscription to "New Masses."

"Also, Ma says to get your lieutenant-first-class behind in there and start on the dishes."

Well, if you're going to leave the car unlocked and running you might as well leave the trunk open too...

Point of Order: since when do two-bit private eyes call anyone to the stand?

Yeah, and Tops would at least be fun to have around.

A retreat into the irresponsibility of adolescence is not an uncommon response to adult trauma.

Oh, you ARE naive.

"Looks like we'll have to dump about a hundred and ninety pounds of dead weight. Ask for volunteers."

At least the poultry shortage is over.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

All right, Mike -- now find out what's really going on at the Western Electric Kearny Works. Call BEachview 2-9371, ask for Sally. But she might take a while getting back to you, she's a bit preoccupied right now...

 

[Fading Fast]

"It's Alice!" pants Joe. "She's been arrested!"

If she knocked over a display of tomato juice cans on that woman, it will now be hard for her to make fun of Sally for having thrown bricks and, well, p*nties and things.

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I thought Don Ameche invented the telephone.

According to the book "The Telephone Gambit" Alexander Graham Bell stole the invention from Elisha Gray. I have no idea if the book is correct, but it made a compelling case and is a good read.

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Excellent capture of one of the most popular men's overcoats for about five or six decades: the raglan sleeve wool herringbone balmacaan. There's a 90+% chance that coat is gray.

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Well yeah, if you're gonna buy at Bendel's. Why do you think Cole Porter never wrote a song about Namm's?

Bendel's closed in 2019. It was one of those stores where it seemed like they just made up the prices to see if someone would actually pay that much for something.

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Why is there a horse in this ad?

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Yeah, and Tops would at least be fun to have around.

I'm with Nina, I don't care how much he appears to have changed, I would not go into business with Wilmer. I wouldn't want to spend five minutes with the guy.

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"Looks like we'll have to dump about a hundred and ninety pounds of dead weight. Ask for volunteers."

They could toss Fob Cobb salad out at no big loss to mankind, but they'd still have to find an additional 100lbs to toss.

 

[LizzieMaine]

And why is the horse wearing a hat? Wheels within wheels.....

 

[LizzieMaine]

("I'll tell ya jus' like I tol' t' magistrate in night coeht," sighs Alice. "T'ey must jus' put erl down onna flooeh inneh, an' I slipped, an' me awrm swung out an' shoved 'at woman inta t'em cans." "Y'gawt lucky t'ey b'lieved ya," sighs Sally. "Who'ja get f'ra magistrate? Pinto? Hee'za joik I gawt when I t'rew t'brick in Loew's Oriennal." "Nah," nahs Alice, "I dunno, I didn' ask 'is name." "Solomon?" insists Sally. "You had Solomon, din'cha? Did he remembeh he done ya wedd'n?" "Um," ums Alice, "less nawt tawk about it." "Heh," hehs Sally. "I bet t'at lady ain' gonna pawp awff in no grocery stoehs no moeh. Y' slipped, huh?" "Yeh," insists Alice, shifting her eyes. "Sueh," chuckles Sally. "Hey, remembeh when ya said ya din' know nut'n about solidarity?" "Yeh," sighs Alice. "I betcha do," grins Sally, as the train rolls on toward Newark...)

("What time y'gawt?" demands Solly, shaking his watch. "Quawteh'ra eight," sighs Morrie Schreibstein. "Sal ought be heeh by now," frowns Solly. "Usually I hear," offers Mrs. Ginsburg. "When she and Alice come home, after woik, in the hallway I hear, at the mailbox. But tonight, I did not." "T'is is cheap ice cream," comments Bink Scanlan, scraping the last dregs of a banana split. "At Lieb's we gawt Reid's, not'tis junk." "An' Joe's at school. I betteh cawl oveh t'eh," sighs Solly. "Maybe t' ol' lady hoid sump'n..." But before Solly can reach the phone, it rings. "Schreibstein's," he answers. "Sal?? What's goin' awn? Ya late." He cups his hand over the mouthpiece. "She's still at woik. I dunno how we'eh s'posta rehoise -- Huh?? Oh. Well, awright, we'el prob'ly be done by t' t'ime -- awright, yell up t'dumbwaiteh when y'get home, an' I'll come down an' fill ya in. Awright." He hangs up, and exhales. "She says t'eh havin' a big meet'n out t' plant. It's still goin' awn. T'ez gonna be a strike vote." "Whassat mean?" queries Bink. "It means," declares Solly, "we'eh gonna hafta go ahead wit' t' rehoisal wit'out'eh. Awright, dishrag, you go out'na street, an' I'm gonna be Flannehry...")

("Awlese cans," sighs the stockboy, "is dented." "Toin'm t'ot'eh way," sighs the manager. "An' put some'oeh erl down onnem flooehboehds.")

(The chart on the wall says it all.)

(Football in the mud? Now that's entertaining!)

("Never mind features, get her over to the Stooges unit!")

(She is? Did we miss something?)

(Yeah, don't you ever listen to "Mr. District Attorney?")

(Stop ad-libbing, kid. When we've got lines for you, we'll put them in the script.)

(HOW AMERICA'S NUMBER ONE HERO DOG MUST SUFFER)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Y'ain' sayin' much," ventures Alice, as they board the bus outside the plant gates for the ride to the Newark station. "Y'know I don' trus' t'is comp'ny union," grumbles Sally. "T'eh gonna sell us out. T'at Fitzsimmons guy ain' awna squaeh." "I wondeh'r'if'e's any r'lation," wonders Alice, "t' Fitz use'ta pitch f't' Dodgehs." "Fat chance," mutters Sally as they settle on the hard, uncomfortable seats. "Heh," hehs Alice. "Leas' y'cn' still joke." "What?" "Nut'n....."

That must be some watch.

Dream big, wake fast.

Yeah, but not every wide place in the road has a SUPER MART.

Lil always was much more mature than Harold. Not that that's a particularly high bar.

Jon saw every one of the Perry Mason movies.

"Don't kids sit in parked cars anymore??"

Well, they'll certainly have no trouble spotting YOU in that coat.

Judo? Must be a lot of room in the back of this plane.

Is a shattered world quite ready for this?

 

[LizzieMaine]

And also...

Yes, it really was that good. If you love baseball, the Dodgers, and Gilbert & Sullivan, you're sure to agree:

The Durocher sketch starts at 14:20. Leo was a frequent guest on the Allen show, and they work very well together.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Awlese cans," sighs the stockboy, "is dented." "Toin'm t'ot'eh way," sighs the manager. "An' put some'oeh erl down onnem flooehboehds."

At first, I was wondering why a Roulstons ad was in today.

*********************************************************

That must be some watch.

Indeed, waterproof watches were not common then.

Any thoughts on what happened? Suic*de? Accident? My usually cynical mind is leaning toward accident.

*********************************************************

The Durocher sketch starts at 14:20. Leo was a frequent guest on the Allen show, and they work very well together.

They do. Leo is a natural.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Heckie was s'posta be 'eeh t' shovel'a sidewawk," fumes Joe. "I wisht Sammy was 'eeh, he'da had it done by now." "He's doin' awright, I guess," shrugs Solly. "Misteh G says 'e's helpin' out in'is shawp. You need any pants awltehed?" "I been eat'na lotta sanwiches," admits Joe. "Might not hoit t'let'm out a lit'l." "How's Sal?" queries Solly. "She was awake awl night," sighs Joe. "I felt 'eh squoimin'. If it hadn'a been snowin' she'd'a gone out an' sat onna fieh 'scape. I'da probly been right out'eh wit'eh. She goes awn strike, t'at's gonna eat up t'savin's pretty quick. I'm doin' awright 'eeh, but nawt awright enough. She don' t'ink it'll las' lawng, she says t'em comp'ny union people's jus' putt'n awna show, an'ney really ain' gonna fight f' no t'oity p'cent raise. T'ey'll mawrch aroun' a coupla days t'get'teh pitcheh'rinna papeh, n'en fold right up. So I dunno." "You t'ought much 'bout tr'yna getcha sanwiches in some ot'eh places?" ventures Solly. "Ehhhh," shrugs Joe. "I c'n on'y be in one place at once." "No," nods Solly, "but it's like wit' me -- we gawt t'stoeh heeh, t'one out'n Chicageh, an'na one we'eh open'in out'n Queens. I ain' gotta be in awl'v'm, we jus' gawt a book evr'ybody follows. You could do'tat, write outcha recipe, an' how ya cook'm, an' rent t'at out f', I dunno, two cents on ev'ry one'ey sell." "Who'd go f't'at?" eyerolls Joe. "Two cents outa ten cents retail? What's left f' t'em? T'ey'd hafta sell a whole lot t'make it woit'while." "I'll tell ya one y'could stawrt wi't," declares Solly. "Morrie Schreibstein." "Y't'ink?" squints Joe. "I been tawkin' to 'im since we been woikin' awn'is t'ing wit' t' kid," nods Solly. "He awready sells san'wiches oveh t'eh, chicken salad, an' tuna fish, an' cream cheese, an'nat stuff. T'ese ones'a yez would go oveh big. An' ya live right aroun'a cawrneh t'eh, y'd be right t'eh t'make sueh he's doin' it right." "Huh," huhs Joe. "Huh," nods Solly. "Lissen," continues Joe. "When'ya doin' 'is t'ing ya gonna do?" "T'marra night," announces Solly. "It's awl set. Missis G an' Morrie's gonna be out fron', Bink's gonna be outside, an' I'm gonna be inna back t'eh wit' Frank's buddy t'eh, an' a lit'l som'pn else. An' we'eh gonna have a lit'l s'prise pawrty f' P'trolman Flannehry....")

("T'is rotten coat," growls Sally. "Mize well be made outa gawze. Win' blows right t'ru it." "Betteh'n'a one I gawt," sighs Alice, bowing her head against the wind as they crunch thru the snow toward the 18th Avenue BMT station. "I t'ought you had a good coat," replies Sally. "How come y'ain' gawt it awn?" "T'at was a good coat when ev'ryt'ing was rationed," sighs Alice, patting her midriff. "Ahhhhhh," nods Sally, as they disappear into the station...)

(Repent at leisure...)

("Moost'yee sit loike that?" frowns Ma. "I'm jus' sittin'," protests Bink. "Ye c'n sit loike that in ye doongarees all ye loike," declares Ma. "Boot when ye goot that m'taaaarnity dress aaahn an' ye sit loike that, it's oonseemly." "I dunno why ya makin' me weah'rit," growls Bink. "T'ey said I on'y hadda weahr'it when we was doin' awr business wit'tat cawp." "Ye need t'get use't'wit," argues Ma. "Ye need t'naaaht look loike y'dressed oop in a cassstume. Ye got t'be ****vincin'." "T'lawngeh t'is goes awn," mutters Bink, "t'less convinced I am...")

(Just don't get any mud on those nice uniforms.)

(Yeah, they said the same thing about Baby Sandy, and where is SHE now?)

("Well, you're a countess. Let's see if we can round up an artist, a tenor, and an Indian chief!")

(Next time, keep your catcalls to yourself!)

(ITS A GOOD THING SHE DIDN'T CUT OUT THOSE TAGS)

(It's a pretty clumsy metaphor for something...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

"Whatcha read'n?" queries Sally. "Look like ya gonna cry." Alice shows her the page. "Oh," nods Sally...


I had no idea Mr. Jemail was such a hepcat. He has Basie today, he had Ellington once before. Hey, what do you hear from Coleman Hawkins?

Richard doesn't like the censor-bot either.

For the prewar bourgeoisie, life will never be the same...

That's right, stay carefully concealed...

What else did Jon say that the editor cut out? There seems to be a lot of editing going on in this strip lately. What is Gus trying to tell us???

Once a rattle-brained hepcat...

Oh, I'm sure there are plenty of very nice people around willing to help out.

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH THE REAL WILMER?

"Thou shalt not muzzle thine ox that thresheth out the grain..."

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Worker...

Leopold! Hey, did you bring Glo?

 

[Fading Fast]

"It's awl set. Missis G an' Morrie's gonna be out fron', Bink's gonna be outside, an' I'm gonna be inna back t'eh wit' Frank's buddy t'eh, an' a lit'l som'pn else. An' we'eh gonna have a lit'l s'prise pawrty f' P'trolman Flannehry...."

Separately, I wonder what happened to vet Krantz and his wife; sounds like some sort of apartment rental sc*m was played on them?

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"Well, you're a countess. Let's see if we can round up an artist, a tenor, and an Indian chief!"

Amazing how that story seems to have disappeared forever.

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"Whatcha read'n?" queries Sally. "Look like ya gonna cry." Alice shows her the page. "Oh," nods Sally...

That's a brutal problem with no good solution from this point.

Away from that, Romelle Schneider Roosevelt is a looker:

"She's not such a much." — Fay Emerson

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What else did Jon say that the editor cut out? There seems to be a lot of editing going on in this strip lately. What is Gus trying to tell us???

Hard to believe, but it does look that way. Normally, these aren't Harold Gray type of comments, so it's surprising that they need to edit them.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("R'spectable, r'spectable," mutters Bink Scanlan, standing on the southwest corner of 18th Avenue and 63rd Street. Across the street, the lights of Schreibstein's take hold against the gathering afternoon gloom. Approaching from the south, Bink observes a bulky figure. She pulls a white handkerchief out of her coat sleeve and conspicuously dabs her nose. A flicker of movement in the window across the street confirms the signal. She turns, takes a deep breath, and hurries briskly toward the approaching figure of Patrolman Flannery. "I'm so glad I seen ya," she pants, carefully flaring her eyes as Sally had instructed. "C'mon, y'gawtta come, t'ezza crime, a crime, c'mawwwn..." "Wha'ssis awlawabout?" blusters Flannery. "Quitcha grabbin' at me! Leggo me coat." "C'mon! T'eh get'na way!" She drags the protesting policeman across 63rd Street. "In'eeh!" she urges. They burst thru the candy store's door to find Mrs. Ginsburg and Mr. Schreibstein transacting business. "I AM TELLING YOU," declaims Mrs. GInsburg. "THAT NUMBER I HIT. SEVEN FOUR TWO. NOW PAY ME!" "Ahhhh," retorts Schreibstein. "Wheh ya get'tat stuff!! Y'got t' wrawng place, lady! I'm tellin' ya!" "Right t'eh, awficceh!" declares Bink, jabbing her finger in the direction of the offense. "Look'at'm! T'is neighbehhood ain'a r'spectable place f'no r'spectable people t'raise no r'spectable baby!" "Welll well," smirks Flannery, advancing to the counter. "Officer, if you please!" demands Mrs. Ginsburg. "This man making to pay mine bet please!" "Taaaaaakin' policy bets, aaare we?" glares Flannery. "Ahhhh," snaps Schreibstein. "T'is is anot'eh one'a ya frameups! I paid me p'centage!" "Didjee?" grins Flannery. "Look'eeh, it'sa foista t'mont', ya due again." "Look, I ain' gawt it, awright?" pleads Schreibstein. "Gimme anot'eh week!" "I'm su'prised atcha," scowls Flannery. "Takin' chances like'at. An' you wit' -- how many kids you gawt? Tell me, how's ya lit'l goil? Y'know, t'em d'linquents is gett'n youngeh'rn youngeh. Neveh know when she might stawrt snatchin' poices." "Ya rat bastehd," growls Schreibstein. "Ain' enough ya beat up my boy, if you eveh lay a han' on my..." "Ahhhhhh," dismisses Flannery. "A little extra insurance payment on tawppa ya reg'lar p'centage, an' I t'ink y'gawt nut'na worry about. 'Til nex' mont' anyways.." There is sudden gleam in Schreibstein's eye, as he leans toward the straw dispenser on the counter. "Y'get awlat?" he calls into the bundle of straws. "Ev'ry woid of it," announces a voice from the back room, followed immediately by the appearance of Solly Pincus holding up a shiny black disc, followed closely by Sally, wearing headphones, with plug and cord in hand, and a mocking sparkle in her eyes. "What's awllis?" demands Flannery, his eyes flicking nervously. " "Comin' to ya by means'a electrical transcription," snickers Solly, "coitesy'a Sergeant Solly's Soiplus." Flannery's head snaps back to the counter, where Morrie Schreibstein tauntingly dangles the microphone extracted from the straw dispenser. "Numbeh one," snickers Bink, "awnna hit pr'ade." "Such a time of wonders," marvels Mrs. Ginsburg, "in which we live." "Oh," continues Solly, holding up a hand to stay Flannery's advance. "An' what would a broadcas' be wit'out a guest stawr. May I innehduce," as a third figure emerges from the back room, "Inspecteh John McLuhan, New Yawrk Police Depawrtment, Bureau of Intoinal Affaiehs." Solly slides the record into its paper envelope. "Inspecteh, a lit'l sump'n f'ya files. An' jus't'be safe..." He nods to Sally, who flourishes a second record. "We had," she pronounces, "two machines runnin'. T'is one, we'll hold onta." "Cooom with me, p'troolman," glares McLuhan. "You can't do t'is," protests Flannery. "I gawta whole book on'nis guy, t'is crook 'eeh! I been wawtchin'im f'weeks! Awl 'is gamblin'! It's awl wrote down!" "Let's goo," insists McLuhan, his face grim, as he leads the disgraced patrolman out the door. Our friends smile broadly as they watch him exit. "Well?" says Solly. Bink reaches into her pocket and tosses him a small black notebook. "Piece a' cake," she adds, reaching into her other pocket. "Gawt 'is han'cuffs, too...")

("T'ey gaw't 'im!" announces Joe, hanging up the phone. "T'ey gawttat rat Flannehry, jus' like t'ey said'ey was gonna." "Ahhhhhh," grins Uncle Frank. "I knew Oi could counnt aaahn me ool frien' McLuhan." "He really fell faaar that phoony Inky Quinlan papaaar?" marvels Ma. "Ohhh, noo," denies Uncle Frank. "He knew it was phoony as soon's Oi shooed it t'wim. But it doon't mattar what he thinks, it mattars what Mistarr Beldock an' th' Grannnd Jurry an' th' newspapaaaars think. A soined confession t' yaaaars a' graftin' aaaahn ooficial Police D'partment lettarhead, well, of caaaaarse th' accused would caaaahll it a phoony. But if ye see it Johnny's way -- well, what's woon less darrrty coppar ahhn th' street when ye gaaaaht ye parsoonal integrity aaahn th' loine." "Ye took a stupid chaaance," frowns Ma. "What would keep'im froom taaarnin' YOU in?" Uncle Frank offers an enigmatic smile. "A woise playaaar, Nora," he observes, "nivvar tips 'is entoire hand. As ye ye'self well knooow..." "I ain' neveh," sighs Joe, "gonna get use't'wawl'is." "It's th' way'ath'waaaaarld, me boy," chuckles Uncle Frank, hoisting his two-cents-plain. "I wish it wasn'," shrugs Joe. "If wishes waaar hoorses," intones Uncle Frank, draining his glass, "beggarrs would roide." He sets his empty glass on the counter, and emits a satisfied burp. "Ye knoo what this day is," he continues. "Doon'chee?" "Foist'a D'cembeh," shrugs Joe. "And it's soombody's," grins Uncle Frank, "farrrrst wedd'n annivaaaarsary." "Whose?" frowns Ma. Uncle Frank shoots her a look. "Oh," ohs Ma. "Well, if ye gett'n any oidears, Oi'll tell ye roit now, Oi've had me fill'a th' Dragon's Den." "All roit then! Two Big Joe Specials," orders Uncle Frank. "An' it's aaaahn me!")

(Coming events...)

(And more...)


(Yes, but won't their feet get cold?)

("And not only that, we'd lose our deposit!")

("Eh, all in a day's work. Wanna go eat?")

(Nyahh nyahh, Janie -- Scarlet's got her OWN lab.)

(Well, if Wilmer can reform...)

 

[LizzieMaine]

And in the Daily News...

For a kid who doesn't know anything about ***s, he sure knows how to field-strip one.

Ew.

Yeah, it's open season on second-rate USO acts.

Poor Jessica.

You can't go home again.

"Well, uh, after all, at least you have TWO ears..."

"Oh, MothER. You know I'm devoting my life to intellect. After all, Frankie's taken."

More editing??? LET GUS SPEAK.

Itchy's biggest problem is that he just can't get car insurance.

To achieve the desired result, be proactive.

 

[Fading Fast]

"Piece a' cake," she adds, reaching into her other pocket. "Gawt 'is han'cuffs, too..."

Will they book him today? God I hope so. I do wish, though, it had been on film, not just voice recording. But having Internal Affairs there was a great move. Oh, and kudos, Bink, you done good.

******************************************************

"Eh, all in a day's work. Wanna go eat?"

How short is this guy?

*****************************************************

Nyahh nyahh, Janie -- Scarlet's got her OWN lab.

Nice, Lizzie.

Can't believe I'm asking this, but no "Mary Worth" today?

*****************************************************

"Encouraged." I doubt that is the correct verb.

******************************************************

More editing??? LET GUS SPEAK.

It's been all but impossible to follow the story. What is it that they are so upset about? It's not obvious to me what has the editor so upset. With Gray, you can usually tell from what they don't edit, but nothing here seems controversial.

 

[LizzieMaine]

Unprofessional conduct in the workplace, Mr. Winston? The Board of Education will hear of this!

Bink just has to learn to channel her valuable skills to positive purposes.

I imagine the Inspector will interrogate Flannery with great care, knowing that the DA is paying close attention to matters of police corruption. Isn't that true, Mayor-Elect O'Dwyer?

I wonder if the editor pointed out that we have had no indication over the years that Jon is any kind of an accredited attorney qualified to represent a client in a high-profile criminal case. If he didn't, he should have.

 

[LizzieMaine]

("Look," grins Morrie Schreibstein, raising a glass before the assembled group in the Ginsburgs' parlor. "I ain' a guy tawks a lawt. I sell papehs, cigarettes, ice cream, sodehs, san'wiches, mayyyyyybe take a few bets, but I ain' gonna run me mout'. We gawt Sal f't'at." He pauses for his laugh. "But," he resumes, "what I wanna say, me'n Lil bot', is t'ank you, t'awla yez. We've known some'a yez f'yeehz as customehs an' neighbehs, an' some'ayez we on'y jus' met. But awlayez is real friends, an', well, we won' f'get whatcha done'fr'us. Huh, Lil?" "Yeh,"nods Lillian Schreibstein, smiling for the first time in weeks. "Um," adds Sammy, rising from his seat. "um, I wanna say sump'n too. I wouldn' blame anyayez f'maybe wonderin' what it was awlabout, t'at maybe I mighta... well, but I'm glad t'at - well, none'a'ya did. T'at's, um, awl I wawnned t'say..." "Awright," nods Morrie, "an' now, heeh's Sal." "Yeh," nods Sally. "Um, I guess y'hoid t'day, an' if ya din', y'wasn' lissenin' when I tol' yez, but t'ey suspended Flannehry fr'm t' foece, an' f'rm what I heeh t' gran' jury is gonna giv'im a pretty good goin' oveh. Looks like 'e might even do a stretch. An' awlayez woikin' t'g'et'eh made'at happ'n. I know maybe someaya t'ink I tawk too much, but when I am tawkin', t'is izza kin'a stuff I'm tawkin'bout. Y'showed real solidarity 'eeh, an' it's sump'n t'be real proud'a. An' now, heeh'za guy t'at really made it happ'n, Solly Pincus." "Aw," sighs Solly, "y'putt'n me awna spot. Look, it's jus' -- when I was oveh t'eh, y'know, inna wawr, I seen what c'n happ'n when y'give t'wrawng kin'a people, y'know, badges an' uniforms 'n g uns, 'nawlat stuff. An' maybe jus' get'n ridda one doity cawp is jus' one less doity cawp. But on'na ot'eh han' -- hey, it's one less doity cawp. I'm glad I could do sump'n t'make t'at happ'n. Now, less'awl have a drink'a t'at beeh, so we don' stick pooeh Misteh Ginsboig wit' haffa keg left....")

("Yeh," yehs Bink Scanlan. "It was a pretty swell pawrty, Solly got up t'eh an' give a speech like 'e was Pres'den' Roos'velt a'sump'n." "I neveh woulda t'ought 'e'd had it in'im," chuckles Joe, laying out a row of beef patties on the grill. "B'foeh t'wawr he wazza biggest jokeh you eveh seen. Awrways clownin', foolin' aroun', neveh took nut'n serious." "He was jus' a kid t'en," sniffs Bink. "He's whatchacawl mature now. Cep' when 'ee cawls me End Table awr Coal Shovel awr any'a t'at kin'a junk." "Well, Barbara," adds Ma, "ye moit as well goo oopstairs an' change intarr ye oon clothes b'faaar ye start in warrkin'." "Eh," ehs Bink. "T'is matoinity getup ain' so bad oncet'ya get use't'wit." "Ye couldn' button ye doongarees," snickers Ma. "Couldjee?" "Ya woise," scowls Bink, flouncing toward her broom, "t'an Solly Pincus!")

(All right, Mr. Moses. Get busy building that 150,000 seat domed stadium in Flushing.)

(How can you have a "relic of frontier days" when it IS "frontier days???")

(SMART GIRLS DON'T END UP ON PAGE FOUR.)

(Rearranging the pages doesn't make the story any less stupid.)

(And so begins the rehabilitation of Hirohito.)

("Sorry, I'm not taking new patients." -- Dr. Levine.)

(And this is why sometimes you should just let it ring.)

(Dead Horse Bay is beautiful this time of year...)